


in our elements

by rockatansky



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) - Alternate 2012 Timeline, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Infinity Gems, Post-Endgame, Rating May Change, Sentient Infinity Stones (Marvel), Slow Burn, i mean SLOWWW burn, reader is a magic user, seeing as witches are canon now, will get sexy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25386316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockatansky/pseuds/rockatansky
Summary: “Wait, stones?” You frown. “As in, the Infinity Stones?”Tic breathes in slow beside you. “We really shouldn’t be talking about this.”“You know about them?” Screw asks.You think of when you were younger and when Tivan would spin stories of their birth - tied so closely to that of the universe itself. Glittering ingots raw with power; he would tap her on your brow, or rest a hand on your small head, and you would think of the magic churning inside yourself.-or: what happens when Loki takes the Tesseract and disappears across the Universe.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Kudos: 5





	in our elements

“Something’s changing in the galaxy.”

Tai’k isn't the kind to start a conversation. You wonder if his species has some telepathic form of communication that you don't have the right biology to engage in, or if it’s just a cultural trait; the introversion, the inward focus, where he seems to turn the thoughts in his head over and over instead of voicing them. You watch him sometimes when he's focussed on a piece of tech - his hands moving in automatic as he stares off somewhere just beyond, a small furrow between his brows. The low rumble of his voice feels almost unfamiliar, reminding you that moments where he speaks up are rare and admittedly it’s quite nice not to force conversation, to just have someone there, so you not doing her job alone. In silence, though. Usually.

You never thought to ask what planet he’s originally from, because nobody’s born on Knowhere. He could be from Xandar, except his skin has a grey sheen and his eyes and hair are very dark, and despite only being in “late adolescence” (which is as specific as he’s gotten) he’s much taller and broader than the average Xandarian. He can lift the heavier tech that you can’t and is good with numbers, which you guess is all that matters. 

Except now his hands have stilled and he’s staring out the door of the workshop, out through the storefront, through the dirty windows and out onto the street, and maybe even through layers of Exitar’s buildings to the outer walls of the severed Celestial head and then further, into the universe beyond. You normally find his consternation amusing at best - confusing at worst - but there’s something in his voice today that stirs an unease in you.

“That’s ominous,” you say, turning back to the engine on the worktable in front of you; disassembled components left to hover in the air around it. 

It’s been a few months since Tai'k's father died and you've both had to take over in the workshop. You can’t tell how he feels about it, and don't want to ask. You're just thankful he's let you stick around: although you know your magic is likely the main factor, you and Tai'k seem to have built a steady partnership in his father’s absence. Going back to work at the Museum wouldn’t have been too bad, but you feel more at peace here: wrestling with spells and old tech. 

You take a piece of piping from the air, and as you're readying herself for her fourth attempt at threading a particularly stubborn energy charm through a valve, the shop door crashes open.

“Witch!”

Your eyeroll is automatic. “Yeah, Posty?"

“You coming to the fight tonight? At the Boot?”

You're not sure there is anything you'd rather not do than fight for space with a bunch of drunk creatures shouting and salivating over doped up F’saki. Still, you've had a tension laid across your shoulders all day, and a glass of the Boot’s finest firewater doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

You turn to Tai’k, whose gaze has focussed just past the doorway; clearly roused out of one thought and into another at Posty’s entrance. 

“You wanna finish early, Tai’k?”

He smiles. Sighing, you reach to click the worklamp off. “Let’s go."

Posty’s bouncing up and down on his heels when you make it outside, and as you put on your jacket and make sure that there’s units in the pocket, you gives him a look. 

“Don’t you have a comms shift now?”

“Nope. I covered someone last week so I got tonight off.” He shoots you a grin, but his eyes are blurred. You scoff.

“Are you drunk already?!”

“Ha. Guilty.”

The three of you start off into the windy alleys that make up this particular quarter of Exitar. When you get nearer the Museum the space will open up a bit, and you can hear the hum of people and low, throbbing bass in the distance, but for a while it’s a squeeze through a labyrinth of dusty metal shopfronts. They’re all shut up as you pass, and Posty seems to read your mind when he adds, “Although, you should be saying, ‘I can’t believe I’m not drunk already.' You know how late it is?” He grins over his shoulder at Tai’k. “You let her work too hard."

Tai’k chuckles. You just scoff again, but can’t help but smirk. 

“It’s not that late.”

“Late enough!”

“Well, we’re on our way now.”

“I don’t mind late,” Tai’k rumbles from behind.

“Course you don’t.” You shoots him a smile, before turning to give Posty another look. “See?” 

The bar is heaving when you arrive. Various species are clustered around the Orloni table in a rowdy mass; others crowded into booths or drifting in search of seats. There’s a mob lining the bar, and Posty’s already found someone he knows and is pushing his way through to the counter to greet them. He knows your order, and will come back with a drink for both of you; how long that takes depends on who the friend is and how many drinks Posty's already had, which you're still not sure about. You turn to T’aik, who’s looking longingly towards the fight.

“You go and watch. I’ll see if I can get a table somewhere.”

He smiles, and practically runs towards the Orloni table. You're left standing alone in the crowd, and as you wince at the thought of fighting for a seat, you hear someone shout.

“Hey, Witch!”

Turning towards the sound, you're surprised to see who it is that's calling you. It’s not that you avoid interacting with Ravagers - you're used to them coming into the workshop with whatever gear they need fixing. In fact, you recognises this one’s ragged appearance and mottled purplish skin, and the smirk he’s giving you is the same as when he came into the shop a few weeks back. You thinks his name is Screw: he'd wanted some weapons enhanced before setting off across the galaxy on what had sounded like some sort of treasure hunt - on the Collector's orders. 

Not for the first time, you think of how Tivan always seems to be needing you to help out someone on his contract. At first you'd just thought he wanted to keep you busy now Tai’k’s father wasn't keeping an eye on you, and the first few hunters were ordinary enough: they'd worn the capes that marked them as under official Collector employment, and while they were coming into the shop at an increased rate, their weird aloofness and the way you'd left Tai’k to deal with it was familiar enough. Others, however, definitely weren’t from around here, even considering the melting-pot that is Exitar: Ravagers who looked at you like you were going to double-cross them at any second and they were utterly prepared to kill when you did. Those were the ones who needed you to repair guns who’s innards even T'aik didn’t recognise; stuff held together by materials you've never seen and, with Screw's rifle, magic so sparky that in the end you’d just tried to avoid it.

Whatever the Collector is searching for, he’s gotten desperate.

Screw had spent the entire time it took you to fix up his gear raving about the absurdity of the contract; how in his entire, glorious history as a Ravager, he’d never been put to something as crazy. His companion, who now glares at him from across the booth where they’re sat, had remained stoic the entire time, and had seemed just as relieved as you were when they left. Screw waves you over, and there’s nothing else you'd rather not do, but in the crush of the bar there isn't really any choice except to gravitate towards where they’re sat. 

As you're walking over, you wonder what they could possibly be doing back here, lurking in the corner of the Boot. Despite his outspoken nature in the shop, Screw had kept much quieter about the exact details of the contract.

“I thought the Collector sent you both off on a suicide mission?”

“Not quite.” He smirks. “He sent us to find a map, but someone got there before us.”

You inch a bit closer, takes in his many empty glasses. “You sure you should be telling me this?”

He laughs, revealing rows of pointed teeth. “Relax, Witchy. Aren’t you grateful it wasn’t a suicide mission? You get to see me again.” He bats his eyelashes at you dramatically, and you can’t help but let out a huff of amusement.

His companion doesn’t look as comfortable. “Careful, Screw," They glance around the bar. “Collector has ears everywhere.”

You roll your eyes, and Screw smirks along with you. “You really think he has time to care about gossip? Come on, Tic. This place is just a front. No one’s going to be listening."

Tic looks pissed. “It’s not exactly gossip though, is it? If you’re blabbing out secret details.”

“The contract is over. We aren’t bound to anything.”

You've spent enough time with Tivan to know that he would think otherwise. “You sure about that?” You glance down at the space next to Tic, gesture towards it. “Can I sit there?”

They nod, and you slip into the booth beside them. Turning back to Screw, you wonder if you could get him in trouble by pushing too much into the Tivan's personal business. But there’s something about the way his words have set off a twist in your gut - irritating something that’s been hanging over you for a while. “So if you came back with nothing, why are you here?"

Screw smirks. “I never said we came back with nothing.”

You wait for him to continue, but he just sits there and simpers. “You're going to tell me more, right?”

He leans across the table.“Maybe.”

You wish you had a drink, but Posty is now nowhere to be seen. Screw leans back again and gives you a pointy grin. 

“You know, I do owe you one. You fixed up my gun real good.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Ha! Well,” He picks up his cup, tilts it in your direction. “We didn’t bring back the map to the Stones. But we managed to find the one who had it.”

“Wait, Stones?” You frown. “As in, the Infinity Stones?”

Tic breathes in slow beside you. “We really shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“You know about them?” Screw asks.

When you were younger, Tivan would spin you stories of their birth: a glorious enlightenment tied so closely to that of the universe itself. Glittering ingots raw with power; he would tap on your brow, or rest a hand on your small head, and you would think of the magic churning inside you.

“I thought they were some sort of galactic legend.”

“Of course you did. I’m sure you’re not the only one. But they’re real.” He winks at Tic, who leans back in their chair with an outward breath.

“Who found the map, then?”

“Ah,” Screw hums. “We don’t know his name. But we told him there was contract going for information on the Stones and struck up a deal: we take him to the Collector, in return for some of the reward.“

You realise, then, that Screw is an idiot.

“He ran off-” Tic looks at her sardonically, “-when he heard about the Collector."

Screw doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed. Unfazed, in fact. “Yeah, slippery bastard.” He shakes his head, then lets out another laugh. “But that’s why we’re here right?” When he looks at you, his eyes are suddenly very dark, and as your stomach drops instinctively you realise you may have been underestimating Screw’s tenacity. “If we catch him, I’m sure we can convince him.”

At that moment a miracle happens because Posty appears at your shoulder balancing three large cups of moonshine and thank all the universe's gods. 

“Hey! What’s going on?”

“Hi, um, nothing really. Oh, thanks so much.” You stand casually, going to take one of the drinks and giving Posty an intense look with the hope that he catches its meaning. “I was just gonna go find Tai'k. You coming?”

“Uh yeah, sure.” 

You smile at Tic, and then at Screw - who is frowning at Posty, his eyes no longer black and hungry - and say, “Hope the, uh, ambush goes well.” 

Screw grins, and you turn and quickly walk away. Posty hurries to catch up as you wind your way through the crowd. “Ambush?”

“Yeah. Typical night at the Boot, I guess.” You turn to raise your eyebrows at him, and he grins, throwing an arm over your shoulder and taking control of navigating your bodies towards the fight.

“Very true, Witch. We better stay out of the way and focus on enjoying ourselves.”

You laugh. “Not up for intercepting a fight tonight?”

“Well, not with them.” He gestures in the direction of the booth and takes a long drink, and that’s fortunate because you definitely don’t think you'd be able to save Posty's ass if he was up against the Ravagers.

Tai'k’s right at the table’s edge so you have to push your way through the mob, and you're proud of yourself for getting to his side without spilling any of his drink. Before you, the snarling creatures throw themselves at each other, and you recoil from the spray of bodily fluids. You find it more entertaining to watch people watching the fight than to watch the fight itself: the usual crowd of Exitar outlaws, all swollen with drink and raging at the creatures before them. Tai'k’s more reserved, but there’s still an intensity in the way he watches the F’saki take out the smaller Orloni - one you're not sure you're too comfortable with.

“Yeah! Get it!” Posty shouts, and you moves back a little to let him stand at the table’s edge; happy to watch from over his shoulder. You takes a first sip of moonshine and savour the way it leaves a warmth in your chest; after a second sip, the buzz starts to hit. You feel less exposed here - can watch the beings crowding the table opposite. 

A flash of pink catches your eye, and you watch as a familiar Krylorian walks behind the crowd. Carina looks more nervous than usual, which is saying something. You think of long days in the Museum, and they way Carina would try and ignore your existence, and how you wouldn’t really mind. Now, Tivan’s servant stops at a small table, tucked into a corner. Carina's head bobs a little, her pigtails bouncing, but she’s turned away, and over the noise of the fight what’s said is impossible to hear. Whatever it is, it causes the man to rise.

He turns then, and you freeze. He’s wearing dark leathers - typical of a traveller - and his black hair is grown out long past his shoulders, but there’s an air to the way he carries himself: like he’s above the rabble of this bar, above shady deals and back-street crime; like he should be in some other galaxy, leading an army to victory. You try not to stare, don't want him to catch your eye, but as he follows Carina away from the bar and out through the doorway to the Collector’s museum your gaze is drawn to the power in his long strides, and you don't know how you know but this is definitely the guy that Screw and Tic are here to ambush. The thought comes with an overwhelming urge to down your drink and leave. 

Posty senses your change in mood and turns his head. “You see him too?”

You take a long sip. “Yeah.”

“Definitely a bounty hunter.”

“You think?”

“Oh, for sure. He’s in the money.” He winks, and turns back to the fight. 

Your mood doesn’t lift. You know there’s a real fight on the horizon: the man's conversation, or deal, or whatever him and Tivan are discussing, will only take so long. Eventually he will have to leave, and you want to be out of here before he does.

Every second that passes the knot in your stomach tightens, but you last a few more rounds before you have to drag T’aik away from the table and leave Posty flirting with some attractive Centaurian. On a night where you've had a bit more to drink you would probably go and say hi to Tivan, just to stay in his good books. Knowing that tonight he will be joined by the man from the bar keeps you headed towards the exit: smuggling a drink out under your jacket to finish on the way home.

The backstreets are as quiet as they were earlier, and it is only because you're used to judging time in the constant night of Exitar that you know it’s the early hours. It’s always now, when you're walking home, that you start to think of sunsets, and twilight. Temperate planets with natural light, with rich greens and large stretches of sea; moonlight on the water. You've never asked Tai’k what his home is like. You consider it for a moment, then watch the way he ambles along blearily and decide not to risk ruining his mood. You wonder what Tivan would say, if you told him that you wanted to leave. 

You down her drink. Of course, you don't have to ask him. You could just go. Still, you wonder how far across the universe you'd actually get before he found you and dragged you back to Knowhere. You've considered it every time someone came into the workshop, breezing through Exitar on their journey across the universe; or even before, when Tivan would host guests from galaxies you hadn’t even heard of. Perhaps he would let you go, or perhaps he would find some way to convince you of how desperately needed you were in the workshop, or the Museum, and you would forget all about it.

You arrive back, and Tai’k excuses himself and heads up to his room. You're grateful: your mind is running at one thousand light years a second, and you can’t imagine being able to focus on conversation. You're still buzzed from the alcohol, and wired from talking to Screw and Tic - you try not to think of their plans for the night. In a moment of madness you consider practicing more complex telekinesis than just leaving things to float in the air, before quickly realising that you'd only end up waking Tai’k by breaking something. You choose instead to settle down in front of the engine and throw yourself into the spell from earlier, your excess energy fuelling the addictive frustration of slipping up, over and over.

You don't know how much time has past, but you're roused out of your focus by the beeping of your comm; the sound itching behind your ears and down the back of your neck.

“Witchy dearest, stay awake; I’ve sent someone your way.” There’s a quick intake of breath, a pause, and then: “Take note: he’s a little… serious. Shall we say.”

Tivan rarely calls in advance nowadays. You know better than to ask questions, so you just confirm, alright, I’ll stay awake, and hang up, but something sinks slowly into place within you. Getting up, as if to go to the storefront, you realise that you don't know how long you needs to wait, and sit down again. You suddenly feel like you've forgotten where you are, or why you're there; then you see the engine, floating in midair before you, and in a haze you lift a hand and finally attach the charm to the valve.

Then, the front door opens, and suddenly everything makes sense. As you rises from your workstation, you realise that you knew who it would be even before he entered - knew the second Tivan called.

“Are you the witch?”

The man is taller than he seemed at the Boot. Much taller, as he ducks under the threshold the way Tai’k usually has to; the slow steps he’s taking into the storefront crossing the space too quickly. You're suddenly thankful for the counter between you both because it means he can’t come close enough to loom over you. Or maybe he’s not actually that tall at all, and it’s just the way he’s looking at you that’s making you feel small.

“Yeah. I am.”

“A pleasure,” When he smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes. "I am Laufeyson.”

**Author's Note:**

> loool been in this fandom for 8 years and this is my first Loki fanfic?? better late than never right ?


End file.
